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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29407293">until you feel your lungs bleeding</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellumGerere/pseuds/BellumGerere'>BellumGerere</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dead by Daylight (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, FebuWhump2021, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Major Character Injury, Poison, Pre-Relationship, Stitches</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:41:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,918</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29407293</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellumGerere/pseuds/BellumGerere</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Meg was injured and Claudette was there to help.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Claudette Morel/Meg Thomas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. blood on your hands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>girl help i'm invested in dbd lore now</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Out of all the killers they’re forced to interact with on a regular basis, Claudette is beginning to think she might like the Plague the least. There’s something about the—filthiness of it all, the constant cleansing, the way her stomach churns for hours after a trial with her, even on the rare occasions she doesn’t get hit. There are no shortage of ponds only a few minutes’ walk from the campfire, where she and the other survivors take turns bathing and washing their clothes, but after one of those trials, no amount of time she spends scrubbing her skin raw feels like enough. There’s no offering that will ward against it, nothing that will really protect her. Even though she knows it's only temporary, she can’t help but wish for a more reliable way to avoid the…effects.</p><p>She’s been lucky this trial. Once the fog cleared, she’d found herself dropped in a corner of Ormond, far away from the others, and she’s been quietly working on generators ever since, repairing one on her own and one with Dwight’s help. The only thing even remotely resembling action had come in the form of Jake hobbling towards her, cleansed but with a nasty gash on his arm. She’d wrapped it up, and he darted off without even a word of thanks, though she’s used to his silence by now. It had bothered her at first, but now, as she gets to work on a second generator, it’s not even on her mind.</p><p>What <em>is</em> on her mind is the fact that she hasn’t seen Meg this whole time. That’s not unusual, necessarily, since Claudette tends to stay in one place unless she needs to heal, or runs into the killer. Meg, on the other hand, will run <em>towards</em> the killer if given half a chance. Lately, it’s worked more often than not; she’s so small and quick that she’s damn near impossible to catch, especially if it’s one of the larger killers chasing her. The fact that it’s the Plague, specifically, though, has Claudette worried. Unlike most of the others, she’s got quite a range on her…attacks…and even though no one can match Meg in terms of speed, the Plague wouldn’t need to in order to seriously wound her.</p><p>Two generators later and they’re nearing the point where they’ll have enough done to power the exit gates. It doesn’t come a moment too soon, either; the ease with which they’ve gone through this trial has Claudette on edge. Even though the four of them have been in the fog the longest—as far as any of them know, anyway—more often than not a trial ends with at least one of them being sacrificed, but she hasn’t heard even one person go up on a hook. Jake finds her, and they finish the last generator in silence, ears straining for any hint of a heartbeat. When it powers up, he’s already off, heading towards the exit gate they saw earlier, and Claudette backs away from the generator and hides behind a nearby wall, hoping that the Plague won’t think to look anywhere but at the gates.</p><p>That’s when she hears it—a cough, then another a few seconds later, and the sound of retching after that. It’s coming from a sheltered little alcove not far away, and after a moment’s hesitation, peering around the corner to confirm that she’s alone, Claudette heads toward the sound. Her boots crunch in the snow beneath her, though any prints she makes thankfully won’t be visible for long; just like the trails of blood they leave when injured, it takes perhaps a minute at most for them to inexplicably fade. When she rounds the corner, crouched low, her breath catches in her chest and her heart sinks: it’s Meg, curled up against one of the stone walls, one hand holding her own hair back as she coughs.</p><p>Abandoning all pretense of being careful, Claudette rushes over to her, kneeling down in the snow beside her and feeling it immediately soak through the knees of her jeans. At first, Meg doesn’t even seem to notice she’s there; it isn’t until Claudette touches her shoulder lightly that she jerks and looks up. Her blue eyes are unfocused, looking somewhere past Claudette into the distance, but she reaches up to grab the hand on her shoulder. Her fingers are bloody where they wrap around Claudette’s wrist.</p><p>“What happened?” Claudette asks, voice barely more than a whisper. They’re painfully exposed here; even with the cover of the walls, they could be found at any moment—Meg clearly already has been. The wind whistles through the gaps in the wood above them, and the sheer volume of it makes her flinch.</p><p>“What do you think happened? She fuckin’ got me.” There’s an undercurrent of annoyance in the words, but it is so weak, and Meg’s voice so hoarse, that it comes across more desperate than anything else. “Knocked me down and left me. When the generators—” She pauses, leans over and retches violently. Claudette gently frees her wrist from Meg’s grasp to pull her braids back, though what comes up is more bile than anything else; she wonders just how long Meg has been here, if it’s made her this sick. “When the fourth one finished. Trying to find you. Guess she thought she could just leave me to bleed out.”</p><p>Meg wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, bracing herself against the ground. Her red hoodie and leggings are so painfully bright against the slush on the ground, the drab grey of the stones, that Claudette almost doesn’t register the other splash of red under them—Meg’s blood, soaking the dirt and snow, but vanishing almost as quickly as it appears. “Guess she was right.”</p><p>“No!” The word comes out louder than Claudette intended, and she slaps a hand over her mouth, glancing around as though the sound of her panic alone would be enough to summon the Plague. She hasn’t heard any chases near them, hasn’t heard anyone get hooked, and that worries her more than if they’d been running around mere feet from where they’re hiding. Meg watches her, the hand not splayed out on the dirt wrapped around her middle, where Claudette now notices the worst of the bleeding is coming from, though her legs are littered with scratches as well, her leggings torn. “We—there has to be something I can do, I—”</p><p>She fumbles with the zippers on her jacket pockets, searching through them for anything she could use to staunch the bleeding enough that Meg would be able to make it to the exit—and comes up empty. Of course this would happen during a trial where she’d chosen not to bring a full medkit, and after healing Jake, the only things left in her pockets were a couple of antiseptic wipes and a single roll of gauze. It might have been enough if Meg were only injured, but the sickness has taken its toll on her; Claudette watches helplessly as her gaze drifts in and out of focus, drops a hand to tug at Meg’s arm. “Here,” she mumbles, trying to stop the despair from setting in. It’s one thing for a teammate to be sacrificed when there’s nothing she can do about it, but to watch Meg bleed out in front of her when she’s the one who’s supposed to heal her friends… “Let me see.”</p><p>Meg nods and moves her arm, biting at her lip as she does so, and the groan that slips out is muffled but no less pained. The realization that she’s going to have to move Meg’s clothes to get a look at the wound gives Claudette pause, but before she can even mention it Meg has gripped the bottom of the shirt and hoodie, tugging them up until her ribcage is bared. The fact that Claudette is used to seeing her friends wounded—has, in fact, seen countless injuries worse than this—doesn’t make it any easier to examine the gash on Meg’s side, so deep she imagines she can see bone. At least one rib broken, maybe more. It must have been a hit from the censer that took her down; she knows firsthand how painful it can be, different from the bite of a trap or the sharpness of the Legion’s knife. In her mind she’s already forming a treatment plan, regardless of the fact that she has nothing to actually treat it with, when she’s pulled from that train of thought by Meg’s hoarse laugh.</p><p>“I know, it’s not pretty.” She grins, and there’s blood on her teeth, on her split lip. Claudette starts to respond, some worthless reassurance on the tip of her tongue, when they’re interrupted by the sound of a gate rumbling open. Out of habit, they both look down at the fissures that are starting to creep across the ground. “You should go,” Meg says, and there’s a urgency to her voice that wasn’t there before. When Claudette locks eyes with her, Meg’s gaze is steady. “Get out before she finds us. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll bleed out before it takes me.”</p><p>She wants to say no again, wants to sit here until Meg’s eyes slip closed or the Entity claims them both, but she knows it’s the wrong thing to do when she’s being offered an out. There’s a second unopened exit door nearby; if she’s lucky, the Plague will be busy at the other one and she’ll be able to slip out unnoticed. Still, she can’t help but feel guilty watching Meg’s labored breathing, seeing just how much blood seeps from the wound. Claudette reaches out, puts her hand over Meg’s where it rests in the snow, squeezes down. Meg’s fingers twitch under hers before Claudette pulls away, pushes herself to a standing position and runs for the other door.</p><p>She doesn’t let herself look back. She’s too afraid of what will happen if she does.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>why can't i just play video games like a normal person why does this always happen</p><p>as the summary implies, there will be three chapters of this - i'm writing this for febuwhump (this first chapter is for the prompt 'poison'), so the other chapters will be posted on the days that correspond to the prompts!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. blood on your face</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yeah i wasn't really planning to work on this two prompts in a row (i like to change things up lol) but the prompt for day 8 was "hey, hey, this is no time to sleep" and i just...started thinking about one character saying that to another when they're trying to patch up their wounds and....this happened lmao</p>
<p>there's some descriptions of stitching a wound in here but i tried to keep them minimal, partially so it wouldn't bother people and partially because i don't actually know anything about putting in stitches sksklslks -bel</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Entity, Claudette has decided, has a sick sense of humor, because the next time she and Meg are put in a trial together it’s back at Ormond. After a quick glance around once she’s got her bearings, she doesn’t see any of the fountains that indicate the Plague’s presence, which is—something, she supposes, but the whole thing still feels wrong, even more so than usual. She doesn’t know who else is with them yet, only that she and Meg had been talking in her tent when the fog had crept up on them. In a way, she’s almost grateful. The conversation had been stilted, and every time Claudette had tried to apologize for leaving her, or to make sure her wound had closed properly—as if it wouldn’t; she gets the sense the Entity doesn’t want them injured between trials, so every wound feels fresh—Meg had brushed her off, and the tension had fast been nearing a breaking point.</p>
<p>It’s always been like this between them, from the first moment they encountered each other on the grounds of the MacMillan estate. Meg is the kind of person that probably wouldn’t have liked her much in the real world, and at first it was no different in the fog; Claudette vividly remembers how Meg had tried to dictate what the four of them did at first, and because she was the loudest, everyone went along with it. It wasn’t until later, when they’d figured out what they were supposed to be doing, learned to play to their strengths and each other’s, that she’d started to quiet down a bit. Claudette could understand the impulse—none of them had known what was going on for those first few trials, and for a while it had been nice to have someone step up, but it had inevitably led to fighting, which only made everyone more tense.</p>
<p>Things were different when they started to cooperate more. The Entity was—not kinder, nothing it ever did could be described as kind, but it would reward them, sometimes, when they had performed especially well. The first time all four of them had escaped a trial, they’d returned to the campfire to find four tents pitched, complete with sleeping bags and a chest in each for them to store their meager personal belongings. Later on, there were other things, new clothes in the chests or bars of soap, cosmetics and nail polish for the people who used them. Claudette has always been hesitant to accept the gifts, knowing they’re a double-edged sword. The Entity feeds off their hope, and what does this do except create more? Still, even she can’t deny the comfort of having a closed-off place to rest between trials, of being able to clean herself and her clothes, even if her injuries heal themselves. She hasn’t asked any of the others, but she assumes they feel much the same way. The Entity keeps them alive, but it’s not much of a life they’re living.</p>
<p>She’s pulled from those thoughts by the <em>bang</em> of a generator in the distance, and she huffs a breath through her nose in frustration, watching it mist the air in front of her. It’s barely been a minute, and already someone’s given away their position. It makes her glad that she tends to stick to herself during trials—if she messes up, it’s only her head on the line, and not a friend’s. She finds a nearby generator to work on and kneels down in front of it, setting her medkit on the ground next to her. Ever since that last trial at Ormond, she’s taken one with her every time she’s enveloped by the fog. It’s earned her backhanded comments from some of the others about conserving their resources, but when she reminds them that they’ll be patched up quicker and better if she has one, it usually shuts them up.</p>
<p>Despite the rocky start, things seem to be progressing smoothly; Claudette finishes her generator and is able to sneak away from it without running into the killer, and she meets up with Yui to finish a second—it makes her stomach clench with worry, but she knows they’ll get it done faster this way. Yui tells her as they work that it’s the Legion—Frank, specifically—hunting them this time, and Meg has been leading him around for most of the trial. It would make Claudette laugh if she wasn’t so anxious; everyone knows that Frank has a grudge against Meg specifically, given how often she’s been able to escape in trials against him simply because he can’t catch her. As it is, all the information does is worsen the pounding of her heart in her chest.</p>
<p>He chases her, for a moment, after she and Yui finish that generator. There’s a moment where he just barely misses her with that wickedly-sharp knife and Claudette thinks he’s going to take her down, but they hear it at the same time—Meg yelling, taunting him. He stares at Claudette for a second longer, the eyes of his mask unsettling in their glow, then turns and sprints off after Meg, and her shoulders sag in a guilty kind of relief. She worries about Meg, still, but part of her can’t believe their luck. It’s the kind of thing that’s too good to be true.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, she ends up being right.</p>
<p>Yui is hooked for the first time after that, and though Claudette pulls her off and does her best to patch her up, they’re forced to split when Frank finds them again, and it doesn’t end well for Yui. Claudette can hear her struggling from her hiding spot on the lodge’s second floor, but her hands are shaking and she can hear the faint heartbeat that indicates he’s still around—close enough that she knows she shouldn’t risk it. Felix is sacrificed not long after, leaving just her and Meg, and Claudette doesn’t even know how many generators are still left. It can’t be more than two, she thinks, but with the way their luck is turning, she wouldn’t be surprised if the ones she’d finished are the only ones powered. As awful as it sounds, she’s seriously considering waiting for Yui to be sacrificed so she can start looking for the hatch.</p>
<p>It isn’t until the Entity’s spindly legs are digging into Yui’s corpse, lifting it up into the murky sky, that Meg stumbles right into Claudette, knocking them both to the ground. She’s able to muffle her yelp of surprised, but only just; and as Meg pushes herself to a sitting position Claudette sees, with a far-off kind of horror, the knife wound that drags across her side, disappearing on her back. It’s painfully visible in the outfit Meg’s wearing, her midriff exposed by the outfit she’s wearing, a cropped jacket and leggings that leave her distressingly open to, say, being stabbed in the ribs.</p>
<p>“What did he do?” Claudette asks, then immediately wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of her own question. Meg smiles a little, though it’s strained. Strands of her red hair are slipping out of her ponytail, falling across her face.</p>
<p>“He finally fucking got me is what he did.” Meg pulls a face, turning to lean back against the wall of the lodge. They’re fairly well-hidden here, but they’re also the only two left, and it’s only a matter of time before Frank finds them. “Was awfully cocky about it, too, until I slammed a pallet in his face.” She grins, looking every inch the competitive woman Claudette knows she would have been in real life, but the levity fades all too fast in the face of her injuries. “But I—<em>fuck</em>, it hurts—didn’t get away without this.” She sucks in a sharp breath, gestures to the cut.</p>
<p>“And that’s why you came to me?”</p>
<p>Claudette’s own attempt at a joke falls flat; she’s so nervous that it comes out more petulant than anything else, but if Meg notices, she doesn’t comment. “No, I just got lucky.” She pitches her voice low. “I know where the hatch is, and I have a key in my pocket. But I don’t know if I can get there. So either you take this key and run, or fix me up and we make a break for it together.”</p>
<p>Her decision is made before she even consciously thinks about it; she’s already laying the bright red medkit on the floor in front of them, opening it to examine the supplies inside. It’s a nice one, too, and she’s glad for it, because that means she’ll be able to stitch the wound, not just wrap it in gauze and hope for the best. It will only work if they have time, though, and this is Frank’s home turf. She doesn’t want to get too confident in herself. “I’m not leaving you again.”</p>
<p>“That’s nice to hear.” Meg shifts until she’s laying down in front of Claudette, turned just enough that the whole of the wound is accessible to her. It doesn’t go as far across her back as Claudette feared, and it curves unnervingly across her side, but it’s shallow—not like the wound from the censer during their last trial. “This is going to hurt, isn’t it?” Her voice is quiet, but lacks none of its usual bravado, though Claudette wonders if she can’t also sense an undertone of fear.</p>
<p>“It might,” she replies, trying to make her voice soothing, like she would have with a patient. She hadn’t gotten far enough in her education for any residencies, but—some things were just self-evident. She’d had her fair share of insensitive doctors, and when she got her scholarship she’d vowed that she would never be one of them. “I don’t—there’s nothing in here for the pain. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“’sokay,” Meg mumbles. “Hang on. I’ve got an idea.” As Claudette is threading the needle, she watches Meg sit up once again and, much to Claudette’s surprise, start sliding her jacket from her shoulders. She tries not to stare at the wide expanse of Meg’s skin it reveals, broken only by the bandeau she’s wearing under the jacket; it’s difficult, though, not to let her eyes lock on the play of muscles under her skin as she lays back down. She arranges the jacket so it’s mostly pillowed under her head, but balls one of the sleeves up, presses it against her mouth. “Okay,” she says, her words muffled by the fabric. “I’m ready.”</p>
<p>Claudette looks down at the wound, clenches her teeth, and sets the needle to Meg’s skin. This was something she’d had experience with in her old life, and the movements come naturally, though she tries not to think too hard about it, or that it’s Meg under her hands, or that this is the closest they’ve ever been. Meg’s eyes have fluttered closed, and she’s breathing harsh into the jacket sleeve, but she’s otherwise impressively quiet. It would be easy to be distracted by her. Claudette can’t pretend she hasn’t noticed the way Meg looks at her sometimes, or stop herself from returning the glances, though neither of them have done anything more. The fog is no place for—whatever might be behind them.</p>
<p>“You doing okay?” she whispers, and Meg opens her eyes, though she doesn’t look at Claudette, just at the wall beside them. Her arm relaxes, and the fabric drops away from her lips.</p>
<p>“Yeah. I’m fine. Think I’m just—gonna rest for a minute.” Her other hand, fingers bloody, twitches at her side. The knot of anxiety in Claudette’s stomach tightens. She can’t let Meg drift off now; she has no idea how much blood she lost before they found each other, and though the Entity won’t let them leave a blood trail, it won’t stop them from bleeding out, either.</p>
<p>“No. No—Meg, hey, hey, this is no time to sleep.” She can’t pause in her stitching, not without messing it up, but her words seem to be enough, because Meg opens her eyes again, her gaze more focused than before. As Claudette finishes the last stitch, ties off the thread and snips the extra. Meg lifts her hand to cup Claudette’s face. She freezes at the slightest brush of Meg’s fingers, her face heating up.</p>
<p>“Can you stand?” Claudette asks, packing the rest of the medkit away. Meg blinks a few times, her hand still outstretched, and then turns, pushing herself to her feet. She hovers unsteadily for a moment, and Claudette puts a hand on her shoulder until she looks like she’s got her bearings. “You said you know where the hatch is?”</p>
<p>Meg reaches out to brace herself against the wall, tucks a few errant strands of hair back behind her ear. “Yeah, it’s by the shack.” She picks up her jacket and puts it back on, fishes around in the pockets until she produces a small key. “We’ll have to make a run for it.”</p>
<p>They creep down the stairs on the outside of the building, looking for the splash of red that will tell them were Frank is. Claudette can see the shack in the distance, a beacon of hope that maybe one of them will survive this trial. “Will you even be able to run?” she whispers, and Meg smirks.</p>
<p>“That’s a stupid question, Claud. Of course I will.” Before she can process the movement, Meg reaches out and grabs her hand. Her skin is warm, and despite the slipperiness of the blood coating both their fingers, it’s a comforting weight. “The real question is—will you be able to keep up?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>harold they're lesbians</p>
<p>one chapter to go!! it's the one where Romantic Things happen too...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. blood in your mouth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>nobody:</p>
<p>me: ok but what if There Was Only One Closet</p>
<p>this probably doesn't need to be said but i'm pretty sure this is not how u diagnose a broken rib irl, pls do not take medical advice from me skslslkdklsdlkdslk. also this got a little Spicy so i'm changing the rating even though it's honestly not that much lmao. the prompt for this chapter was 'broken bones' but tbh it kind of ran away from me and now i have no idea what's going on here -bel</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She doesn’t know how much time passes before her next trial with Meg. Time is a slippery thing in the fog, and it only feels like it matters in the heat of it, when she’s repairing a generator or healing a teammate. At the campfire, though, it’s always the same. They sleep, but it’s never restful; in the in-betweens they talk, or wander the woods that surround them, never straying farther than the ponds they use to clean the bloodstains off themselves and their clothes. Claudette makes offerings, usually; she’s the one who ventures out with the express purpose of gathering plants to burn, and she’s the one who dries them out and packs them into sachets, for times when people don’t have one ready. She leaves stacks of them by the fire, and only a few of the others ever thank her, but she doesn’t mind. She keeps to herself, anyway.</p>
<p>Finding herself in Ormond feels like a blessing and a curse. She can’t remember the last time when she was in a specific location so frequently, but as she finds a generator and kneels down, she’s glad for it. As long as it isn’t any of the Legion again, they’ll probably make it out of this one. It’s easy, here, for them to spread out.</p>
<p>Just as she predicts, it’s nothing like the last match; she’s chased more often—by the Trapper this time—but she manages to outrun him, and in the snow it’s easier to avoid the traps. She’s even able to set one off herself without getting her fingers caught in it, and it distracts him long enough that Claudette hears another generator power up in the distance. She hasn’t seen anyone else the whole trial, though, and that sets her on edge. Something always goes wrong in these things, she thinks, and it’s starting to feel as though Ormond itself is a bad luck charm, especially if Meg is here too.</p>
<p>There’s a generator in the shack, and after making sure she’s alone and stepping over the trap in the doorway, she decides it’s worth it to try and power it. Only a few steps away, though, the creaking of a closet door makes her stop in her tracks, her heart jumping into her throat as she whips around in panic—but it’s only Meg, wide blue eyes locking with Claudette’s.</p>
<p>“Thank god I found you,” she says, and Claudette refrains from pointing out that, technically, it’s the other way around. It’s the kind of comment that would earn her an eye roll if they were sitting around the campfire, but here it’s just out of place. “I need you to look at something.”</p>
<p>Claudette simply stares, uncomprehending, until Meg sighs and steps out of the closet. She’s wearing an outfit completely unsuited for a trial, boots and a skirt and a top that leaves both her shoulders and her stomach bare. Claudette’s eyes are drawn to that strip of skin, to the way she moves and—she’s never noticed the navel piercing before, but suddenly it’s all she can look at, at least until Meg clears her throat and Claudette feels her face flame. She’s certain that wasn’t what Meg meant by <em>look at something</em>. “What do you need?”</p>
<p>“I think I broke a fucking rib,” she grumbles, reaching up to shove her hair out of her face. The red strands are mostly loose, only a few pieces bound back behind her head. “Vaulting off the balcony. Maybe it’s just bruised, but it hurts like a bitch.”</p>
<p>“You know I can’t do anything about it here, right?” Even as she says it, Claudette is already moving to meet her in the middle of the shack. Internal injuries aren’t something she can treat with what little equipment she has access too, which basically boils down to gauze and antiseptic wipes. Still, she might be able to at least tell if the rib is broken, and that’s better than nothing.</p>
<p>“I know. But—I’d feel better if you checked it.” There’s an undercurrent of tension in Meg’s voice that’s at odds with the causal way she makes her request, and when Claudette stops only a few inches away from her, Meg’s cheeks are pink. <em>Probably from all the running,</em> she assures herself. She can’t let her mind run away with her now.</p>
<p>Claudette swallows heavily, manages to croak out an “okay”  before Meg grabs her hand, places it on her side. She lets go and pulls her top up until it sits just under her breasts, and Claudette can’t breathe, though judging by the stillness of her body, Meg can’t either. Her skin is warm and smooth, and she tries to push those thoughts to the back of her mind, focus on feeling for breaks in the bones underneath. Her heartbeat is pounding in her ears, or—is it—</p>
<p>“<em>Fuck</em>,” Meg hisses, and it’s not from any pain. She hears it too. Her hand is on Claudette’s arm, gripping her tightly, and she pulls her towards the closet she’d been hiding in a minute ago and shoves Claudette inside it. It looks like she’s about to shut the door and get into the one beside her, but they can hear footsteps now, and before Claudette realizes what’s going on Meg has squeezed herself into the closet too, pulling the door shut and holding it there. The clunk of the Trapper’s boots on the wooden boards have them both holding their breath, and Claudette is grateful she didn’t actually touch the generator, because he seems to decide there isn’t anything worth staying in the shack for, and soon enough the only sound is their shallow breathing.</p>
<p>Still, even when they’re certain they’ll be able to leave without incident, neither of them move.</p>
<p>There’s barely any space between them, and Meg’s hand is still on her arm when Claudette raises her other hand. After a moment of hesitation, it picks up where it left off, checking for broken ribs. And that’s <em>all</em> she’s doing. It doesn’t matter that Meg’s breath hitches every time Claudette presses down, or that her hand has loosened on Claudette’s arm, but she won’t let go. She goes over every rib on Meg’s right side and finds nothing, and it’s only then she lowers that arm and lifts the other, fingers skimming across the bare skin of her left side. Slow, methodical, definitely <em>not</em> enjoying the feeling of warmth under her fingertips, until she pushes over a tender spot and Meg hisses, nails digging into Claudette’s sleeve. “There,” she says. “That’s the bitch.”</p>
<p>Claudette frowns, presses down again, gentler than before. “It’s hard to tell,” she says, “but you’re right, it might be broken. How does it feel when you breathe?”</p>
<p>Meg takes a deep breath in once, twice. “Bad,” she replies on the second exhale. “Really bad.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” Claudette turns her head in an attempt to see through the slats in the locker door, but from the angle she’s at, there’s nothing much to look at. “There’s an exit gate right outside the shack. If I open it once it’s powered, will you be able to get to it?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. I think so.” Meg nods as she speaks, barely visible in what little light filters into the locker. Claudette is once again reminded of just how close they are to each other. “The others—they’re okay? No one else has been hooked?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. I haven’t seen anyone but you.” She laughs a little, struck by the absurdity of the situation, and Meg laughs too, the sound echoing around them, and at once they both fall silent. Everything is too loud—breathing is too loud, and so is Claudette’s heartbeat, and she knows it’s not from the Trapper this time, because she can feel it beating a wild rhythm against her ribcage. Her hand is still on Meg’s side, but it’s dropped from her ribs to the dip of her waist. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but she thinks Meg is staring at her. Claudette runs her tongue over her lower lip, and Meg pulls in a sharp breath. Claudette had nearly forgotten about Meg’s hand on her arm, until she feels it move, drifting upwards to curl loosely around the side of her neck.</p>
<p>The next thing she knows, Meg is kissing her.</p>
<p>It’s not as though she hasn’t thought about it before, when she lays alone in her tent between trials and tries to calm the racing of her mind enough to sleep. She’s admired her friend from afar, but Meg had never seemed particularly interested in romance, and Claudette had always been too nervous to do anything even remotely resembling flirting. But here, in a <em>locker</em> in the middle of a <em>trial</em>, of all places, Meg is kissing her, and her lips are warm and slightly chapped against Claudette’s, and it’s better than anything she could have imagined because it’s real and it’s happening. She’s so overwhelmed that she doesn’t know what to do for a moment, but her body is on autopilot and she lifts her free hand to the other side of Meg’s waist, slides them to the small of her back and pulls her closer. They’re pressed fully against each other now, the few inches of space between them eliminated, and she wants it gone forever.</p>
<p>Meg moans into her mouth, a quiet sound, and directs one of Claudette’s hands to slip under her shirt. This is—more than she had anticipated, admittedly, but she doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t ever want to stop. She’s not wearing a bra, the wide expanse of her skin open, and feeling bold, Claudette cups one of Meg’s breasts in her hand, runs a thumb over her nipple, pulling another moan from her. The <em>sounds</em> she makes—Claudette has become accustomed to the quiet, but she thinks that if she could, she’d choose to hear this forever. Meg’s hands, both of them, are on the buttons of Claudette’s shirt now, shaking and impatient as she fumbles at them, and the layers that are still between them suddenly feel like too much. She moves her hands to pull at Meg’s shirt, and—</p>
<p>The exit gates power up. The sound is so loud that they pull apart, each pressing themselves into a corner of the locker, though it barely puts any space between them. After a second, Meg cracks open the door on her side and peeks out of it, and in the sliver of light Claudette can see how disheveled she is now, strands of hair falling in her flushed face, lips swollen, shirt rucked up. She looks back at Claudette and grins. “I think we’re probably safe to leave now.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.” Claudette isn’t sure what’s possessing her to be so forward, when normally she’d be stumbling over her words by now. Maybe it’s their forced proximity to each other, maybe it’s the fact that they could be caught at any second—either way, she likes the change, likes not dancing around what she’s been hoping they both feel. “We’re right by the gate. The Trapper might come by to check. Maybe we should give it another minute…just in case.”</p>
<p>“Just in case, huh?” Meg’s smile widens, and she looks Claudette over in much the same way she’d been looked at only seconds ago. Claudette can only imagine how she must appear now; she knows Meg had gotten through at least two of her shirt buttons, and her lips are slightly parted as she stares back. Whatever Meg sees, though, it must be enough for her, and that means it’s enough for Claudette. “What an excellent idea,” Meg says, and pulls the door shut.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this is not as angsty as it probably should be for this event but oh well. none of my other ships currently get to kiss  in fics so goddammit these two are going to</p>
<p>i kind of want to do more about these two, but i've got a million other wips right now, and finishing as much of celia's series as i can is my priority right now - there are some other febuwhump prompts i could see working for them, though, so i'm not ruling it out! in the meantime, i'm on tumblr @yennas, usually crying about my ocs</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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